


Attached

by story_strudel



Series: My favorite crackship [2]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: (medically appropriate) drug use, Fantasy Medicine, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Psychological Trauma, Reno's potty mouth, Slut-Shaming, Vague Body Horror, reeve is a patron of the arts, reno has a bad time until he doesnt, softest reeve, temporary dismemberment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:13:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24958189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/story_strudel/pseuds/story_strudel
Summary: Reno’s still not sure when things went from him noticing that Reeve has nice eyes to him pretty much doing everything in his power to spend time with him, but here they are.Alternatively:Reno has a real bad week.
Relationships: Reno/Reeve Tuesti
Series: My favorite crackship [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806301
Comments: 7
Kudos: 50





	Attached

**_Attached_ **

**_..._ **

“Hey boss?”

Currently up to their knees in swamp gunk near the Mythril Mine, Reno and Rufus are collecting creature samples by moonlight because Rufus had a sudden urge to “measure mako contamination in wetland-dwelling amphibians.” 

In other words, a typical Tuesday. 

Rufus doesn’t look up from his examination of the dead monster at his feet. “What?”

Reno frowns at the water-logged snake carcass, idly wondering how one mouth can host so many teeth. “You know shit about the opera?”

“Do I know shit about the opera?” Rufus uses a swab to collect a fleck of monster blood from said teeth and seals it in a vial. Then he straightens up and gives Reno a hard look. “Which opera?”

“Ain’t they all the same?”

Rufus doesn’t deign to reply. Figuring that’s the end of it, Reno shoulders the bag that holds their other samples and follows his boss back to the chopper. He’s not too cut up about the lack of response. Conversations with Rufus are weird like that.

Once they’re in the air, however, Rufus turns to him. 

“Is Reeve really taking you to the _opera?_ ”

Now Reno’s reasonably fond of his boss, but that comment has him bristling. “Is that judgment I hear in your voice?” he mutters, petulant because whatever his faults Rufus isn’t usually one to denigrate him for not being...opera material.

“Not of you.” Rufus gives him a thoughtful look. “You’re going to hate it.”

Reno is inclined to agree. “How’d you know about me and Reeve?” he asks, adjusting his headset so it doesn’t rub against his goggles.

“I have my ways.”

“Did Elena tell you.”

“...”

Elena definitely told him.

…

“I’m just looking out for you!” Elena replies when he confronts her about it during their Wednesday sparring session.

“By gossiping to our employer about my sex life?” Reno pulls her into a headlock. “INTERESTING STRATEGY.”

“I just figure he’ll be able to look out for you,” Elena wheezes, “in case Cat Guy gets the wrong idea.”

“I can look out for myself. Also, don’t call him that.”

Taking advantage of her smaller frame, Elena draws her knees into her chest and kicks Reno hard in the stomach. While he’s off balance, she wraps her arms around his middle so that they both topple over. ““I know you can,” she says, pinning him beneath her thighs, “but will you?”

Reno blinks sweat from his eyes. “What does that even mean?”

Ever since they found out about him and Reeve, Elena and Rude have been all up in his business about it. It’s nice that they care, but fucking hell it’d be a whole lot nicer if they could find a way to care less aggressively.

Seriously, if Reeve has to attend another board meeting where Elena - ostensibly on Rufus guard duty - stands behind him breathing heavily, Reno won’t blame him if he runs for it.

With a grunt, Elena rolls off of him so that they can stare up at the gym ceiling together. “Just let me care about you, okay?” she says. 

As he does with most things outside his comfort zone, Reno ignores her. “Hey,” he says instead, “you ever been to the opera?”

…

The opera was Reeve’s idea - the second date to what Reno suspects will be a woefully short relationship. Not that he doubts Reeve’s sincerity. It’s just...he’s aware of the whole “opposites attract” ethos, okay? But “opposites” doesn’t quite do the discrepancy between them justice. 

Reeve is just so _good_ . Not only in a “heroic, fighting for the forces of justice” kind of way - though he’s _also_ that - but in a “fundamentally compassionate and decent person” way that makes Reno kind of wonder why the hell he's slumming it with the likes of him.

See, when Reeve had invited him to dinner, Reno had honestly thought it was the polite, cultured folk’s version of a booty call. He’d been pretty ecstatic, too, because he was starting to feel pathetic sniffing around Reeve so much with nothing to show for it.

So Reno had popped the buttons on his shirt and poured on the charm, and just when things had been going well, Reeve had gently told him that he was being too much of a fucking ho. Until that point, Reno had been operating under the assumption that him being a ho was the whole point, so the realization that he’d read Reeve wrong was humbling, to put it mildly.

Disappointing, too, because it’s only a matter of time before Reeve realizes that Reno can’t give him what he wants.

...

Friday night rolls around, and Reeve picks him up in a suave, eco-friendly luxury car that's probably worth more than Reno's life. He’s wearing a dark suit that’s cut a lot sleeker than his normal office attire, and he actually gets out of the car to open the passenger door for Reno like he’s some kind of chauffeur. 

“You look handsome,” Reeve says, giving him a peck on the cheek once they're both seated in the car.

Reno, who cycled through three outfits under the judgmental stare of his cat before finally settling on his current attire, takes comfort in that. “Should be my line,” he replies, giving Reeve a once over that is unsubtle by design and has the intended effect of making him blush. 

“Just doing my best to keep up with you,” Reeve quips as he eases the car smoothly into traffic. 

Before the show, they share an early dinner at a seafood place that has maybe the best clam chowder Reno’s ever tasted. Reeve’s chummy with the owner, so they end up with a free bottle of wine, as well, which is great because Reno figures being buzzed might be the key to making it through the evening. 

It isn’t Reeve’s fault that he feels so twitchy. Far from it. Reeve is consummately charming and asks polite but insightful questions that keep the conversation going. This, all despite the fact that Reno can’t seem to say anything that isn’t either sleazy or unintentionally menacing. 

The other patrons sure seem to think so, if the amount of side eyes he’s drawing is any indication. Much as it pisses him off, Reno can’t blame them. He knows what it must look like - an obviously well-bred guy like Reeve having dinner with someone of Reno’s...particular aesthetic.

Under any other circumstance, Reno wouldn’t give a shit about being mistaken for an escort. He doesn’t care what others think of him...especially not parasites like this lot with their wealth built on others’ suffering. His own hands may be far from clean, but at least he’s got the guts to own it.

So yeah. Reno shouldn’t give a fuck that some old lady in pearls and a designer dress stitched by orphans thinks he’s a prostitute. He can handle a few dirty looks. Not to mention he’s known some pretty all right whores. 

The problem is that those dirty looks are also aimed at Reeve.

He either doesn’t notice or is convincingly faking it because he just goes on chatting and eating like nothing’s wrong. Still, knowing that he’s brought Reeve down somehow kind of makes Reno wonder if pursuing this thing between them was a mistake. Okay, so he _knows_ it was a mistake. It's just...

“Reno? Everything okay?”

“Huh?” Blinking across the table at Reeve, Reno realizes with slight horror that he’s lost track of their conversation. “Sorry. You were sayin’ somethin’ about that Junon project?”

And just like that the sweet, enthusiastic Reeve is gone, replaced by a version with hunched shoulders and a smile that is entirely too self-conscious. “I talk about work too much,” he says quietly.

“That ain’t it.” Resolving to ignore the lady with the pearls, Reno butters a fourth dinner roll and resolves to rescue Reeve from his poor self-image. “It’s cool you like your job. I mean, what you’re doin’s real legit, rebuildin’ the world and all of that.”

“It sounds glamorous when you put it that way.”

“Seriously, yo. Rufus wouldn’t get half the shit he wants done without you. Not with Scarlet and Heidegger on the board.”

Reeve wrinkles his nose. “It’s really a shame they own so many shares in Shinra. Otherwise we could get rid of them.”

“Careful,” Reno says, wagging his butter knife. “That sounds like Turk talk.”

“O-oh, I didn’t mean-.”

“Relax. I know.” Reno grabs an oyster off Reeve's plate and slurps it from the shell. “Didn’t those two arrest you once?”

“To be fair, I had betrayed the company.”

“I remember. The furry thing.”

“Cait Sith is not a furry,” Reeve says, with a level of resignation that tells Reno this isn’t the first time he’s had to say it. “He is a highly advanced AI system uploaded into an ambulatory animatronic inspired by my cat.”

“So, like, a robot furry?”

“Fine. You got me. Unrelated, would you say no to wearing cat ears?”

Choking on his second oyster, Reno entertains the notion that the night might not end so bad for him.

...

It turns out that the Tuesti family are big contributors to New Midgar’s recently rebuilt opera house. Hell, Reeve actually _designed_ the building, which he of course communicates the most humble and minimizing way possible. Modesty, however, has not prevented him from being gifted his very own private box with a commanding view of the stage.

The first thing Reno notices when they enter this box is how exposed they are. Anyone in the audience with a clear line of sight could...he jams the lid down hard on that train of thought. The venue already has tight security. For one goddamn night, Reno figures he can relax. 

It’s hard to turn his brain off though. Especially, when none of the seats available provide a clear view of the box’s entrance. Someone could creep in behind them while they’re watching the show, and if the music’s loud enough, Reno might not hear them until…

This is where his head is at the entire first act. Which is exhausting and also makes it impossible for him to appreciate any of the production’s, er, artistry.

During the intermission, they move to the lobby, and Reno is able to stretch his legs. He also gets his mitts on a flute of champagne, which takes the edge off temporarily. 

It turns out that Reeve knows a lot of the people here, so Reno is able to hang back and let him do all the talking as they mingle with the other attendees. To quell his nerves, he sweeps the crowded room over and over until he’s satisfied. It’s standard work procedure, and the familiarity of the action calms him as much as the lack of threats.

Most of the folks Reeve talks to seem to think that Reno’s his bodyguard anyway because they barely spare him a second glance. That kind of stings in its own way, but at least no one’s asking for his take on the director’s artistic vision or shit like that. 

“So, what do you think so far?” Reeve asks as they return to their seats for the second half.

Reno swallows. If he’s honest, he hasn’t been following the plot at all. The performers are singing in another language, and he’s been too distracted to read the subtitles. Of course, he’d rather die than say that.

“Like their outfits,” he replies. “Very flashy.”

Reeve’s smile drops somewhat. Fuck, Reno thinks. This opera nonsense really matters to him. “Uh, and there was that one part,” he forces himself to continue, hating the uncertainty that creeps into his voice as he tries to put words to something he isn’t even sure he felt, “where the lady in the white dress was singin’ and then it kinda melted into the...was it a violin?”

He must have spewed out something right because Reeve’s enthusiasm is back in force. “It was,” he agrees, encouraging but so sincere and cute about it that he doesn't come across a condescending.

“Yeah, well I liked that part,” Reno continues, still feeling like a huge idiot. “When she sang real high, and you could barely tell the difference, you know? Between the violin and her voice.”

His words have Reeve looking thoughtful, which Reno isn’t sure is merited. Reno’s also worried that he might ask another question, but by now they’re in their seats, and the lights are going dim.

He feels better during the second act. The champagne and crowd check at intermission calmed him, and he even manages to situate himself so that he’s got the box entrance in his periphery.

The opera’s second act also features a battle and two dramatic stabbings, resulting in what he considers to be a substantial increase in the show's entertainment value.

By the end, the love interests and about eighty percent of the supporting characters are dead. Reno thinks it’s overkill - which for someone in his line of work is really saying something - but the sad ending has Reeve going all teary-eyed, giving him a fantastic excuse to place a comforting hand on his thigh. Reeve’s response is to kiss Reno's cheek, but he aims too low and catches the sensitive spot at the hinge of his jaw instead.

And that has Reno feeling all kinds of ways.

He manages to control himself until they’ve left the building and are standing in the parking garage. _Don’t be a ho_ , Reno reminds himself, but he literally just can’t help it. 

“Hey Tuesti.”

“Hmm?” Reeve turns to him, only to chuckle in a happy, if slightly nervous, way when Reno draws him in close. Just when they’re about to kiss, though, the valet brings the car around.

Reeve drives him back to his apartment building, and before parting ways they finally share a make-out session that turns respectably heated in a less than respectable amount of time. Reeve has this sweet, sort of tentative way of kissing that gets Reno hot all over. It probably shouldn’t because he’s pretty sure Reeve’s restraint comes from being insecure, but the careful deliberateness of his movements makes Reno feel...how to put it? It’s like Reno's a luxury car, and even if Reeve wants to have a good time driving, he's still gonna avoid potholes and change his oil and get his tires rotated at handbook-recommended intervals. And he's gonna keep Reno clean and waxed and...huh. That metaphor kind of got away from him.

Getting frisky in a car is all well and good, but what Reno really wants is to invite Reeve upstairs - or at least give him a friendly goodnight hand job in the back seat. He doesn’t make the mistake of offering too much too quickly again, though. No more of that slutty stuff.

When Reno begins pulling away, though, Reeve reels him right back in for another kiss. Reno honestly doesn’t know what Reeve's after when he sets on him like that. When he touches his face and neck like he's fragile. 

Eventually, they part for real, and Reno slinks up to his apartment to jerk off rough and desperate in the shower. Thoroughly unsatisfied, he crawls into bed and rolls his eyes when the cat ambles over and starts batting at his face. 

“No animals in the bed,” he says, trying to reason with her. She’s having none of it, though, so he gives up and rolls onto his side so she can curl up against the softer part of his stomach below his ribs. 

Petting the cat idly while reflecting on the lackluster orgasm he had in the shower, Reno wonders if Reeve might be the death of him.

Then his phone chimes, and upon reading the message, Reno knows it for a fact.

  
  


_Reeve:_

_So, where to for the next date?_

The. Next. Date.

Fuck.

...

“How was the opera?” Rude asks Monday morning while they’re catching up on emails. 

Tseng and Elena are in meetings, so there’s no one here who’d judge him, but it still feels weird to talk about. “Dunno,” Reno says, staring down at his scarred knuckles on the keypad. “Made me realize how different we are, I guess.”

“That a bad thing?”

“It’s just a fact. Gonna see him again this weekend.”

Rude stops typing. “Oh?”

“My turn to pick the activity. Lemme know if you got ideas.”

Knitting his fingers so they can prop up his chin, Rude lets out a low hum of consideration. That’s one thing Reno’s always liked about his partner. He doesn’t half-ass things...even if it’s something dumb like this. “You should take him somewhere you like,” Rude says after thinking on it, “so that he can get to know you better.” 

Now, just because Rude always tries to help, doesn’t mean that he's always good at it. “Don’t know if he’d have fun with that,” Reno says, leaning back in his chair and wishing that all his emails would write themselves.

“Did you have fun with the opera?”

“Why’s that matter?”

Rude adjusts his glasses. “What's your end goal with Reeve, anyway?”

“Dunno.” Reno tries not to hunch his shoulders because Rude knows him well enough to notice. “Never dated someone properly.”

“That’s what you want? To date Reeve?”

“Can’t be too hard." Reno does his damnedest to ignore the other's heavy stare. "Just gotta figure him out. What he wants. Doesn’t want. That sorta thing.”

“What about what you want?”

“What _about_ it?” Reno snaps. “Shit, man. When did either of us ever get what we want?”

The thing about Rude is that the angrier Reno gets, the calmer he always seems to settle. “You should give Reeve more credit,” he says, not even arching an eyebrow. “Also, make him work for it.”

“That what you were doin’ when you tried to scare him off behind my back?”

“Reconnaissance is part of my job, Reno.”

“Is that what you call it?” Thinking back on how Rude and Elena hassled Reeve, Reno grimaces. “Seemed more like intimidation.”

“Also part of my job.”

Reno can’t argue there. “Maybe I should take him to a gallery,” he muses, bored just thinking about it. “Or one of those artsy Wutai flicks where, like, two things happen.”

Rude must have reached his self-imposed quota of words for the morning because he just shakes his head and resumes typing.

…

Ever since Neo Shinra restructured and Tseng got bumped up to executive, he doesn’t have as much time to boss the Turks around. As fate would have it, that responsibility has fallen on Reno. Normally, he would relish the opportunity. Harassing Rude and Elena is, after all, his primary means of communicating that he cares. However, there are also the trainees to deal with. 

There are four total, and of those four, he figures two might make the cut. 

The first of these is Neysa. Midgar slums born and bred, she’s a head shorter than Reno and could probably dead lift him if she had a mind to. More importantly, she has good instincts, is naturally adept with materia, and can hold her liquor. 

There’s Matt, too. He’s not much of a fighter, but he’s got some sorely needed tech skills, and the fact that they pinched him from beneath Scarlet’s nose when she tried to flag him for Weapons Development adds a certain satisfaction to the acquisition.

The other two...well, Reno’s not too optimistic. He’s a good little Turk, though, and trains them up just like Tseng told him. 

Anyway, the trouble starts during hand-to-hand combat training on Tuesday when Neysa and Thad - Reno’s least favorite trainee and, potentially, least favorite human - get into it. Reno’s not clear exactly on how it started, but it probably has something to do with Thad picking on the fourth trainee, Conor. Poor Conor is just not much when it comes to a straight fight. Which is to say that he could trounce probably 95% of the world’s population in a brawl, but when you reach the Turks’ level, it’s that last five percent that counts. Thad, on the other hand, excels at fighting and likes to rub this in Conor’s face any chance he gets. 

If Neysa has a weakness, it’s that she’s fundamentally a decent person. Which is why it doesn’t surprise Reno much when she stops abusing her punching bag mid hit to pull Thad off of Conor and abuse him instead.

Thad isn’t like the other recruits. Most trainees come from nothing or worse than that. It takes a certain kind of desperation, after all, to view Administrative Research as an attractive career path. Thad on the other hand is a sadistic rich kid who decided he wanted to become a monster for the thrill of it. He passed all the preliminary tests, though, and is also the son of Rufus’ cousin - or was it Rufus’ second cousin? Anyway, the point is that Tseng figured it was best if they at least give Thad a shot.

“The fuck was that for?!” Thad screams as blood pours from his nose.

Ignoring Thad, Neysa helps Conor to his feet.

Now, if there’s one thing Thad hates worse than losing, it’s being ignored. Which is why it isn’t much of a surprise when he grabs a water bottle and lobs it at Neysa’s head.

Neysa being Neysa, she catches it without looking and uses the water to help Conor clean the blood off his face. “We’re supposed to be sparring,” she says, not pausing in her task. “Not actually killing each other.”

This is followed by more scuffling, which Reno would normally allow. Gotta toughen ‘em up somehow, after all. However, when Thad picks up and brandishes a dumbbell, he decides to intervene. “Hey now,” he says, pushing himself up off the wall where he’s been leaning and wandering over, “save your squabbles for when you ain’t on the clock.”

“Not my fault she’s so _emotional_ ,” Thad mutters, lowering the weight. “You really think that’s how a Turk should act?”

Reno rolls his eyes. “The fuck you know ‘bout bein’ a Turk, rookie? Anyway, training’s over. All of you get outta my sight. Not you, Conor. Come with me.”

After dropping off Conor at the infirmary so that he can get his dislocated shoulder dealt with, Reno returns to the training room to pick up his gym bag. When he opens the door, he finds Neysa sitting alone on the bench press. Crying. 

_Oh balls_ , Reno thinks, heart pounding in his chest. He better go for help because he is not equipped for this.

Too late. She’s seen him and, judging by her expression, is feeling every bit as mortified.

So, if they’re both in tacit agreement that this is an unbearably awkward situation, maybe it’s best if Reno just...damnit, no....leaving would be downright unprofessional. Right? Right. Okay, yeah. “Fuck it.”

Neysa frowns. “Excuse me?”

“Nothin’.” Heaving himself through the doorway, Reno walks over and plops down next to her on the bench. “The hell you whimperin’ about?”

“Thad’s a dick,” Neysa says bluntly, using her sleeve to wipe snot from her upper lip. “But he’s a good fighter and not…emotional.”

“You sure? Losing his shit over bein’ asked not to punch his colleague seems a _little bit_ emotional.”

Neysa graces him with a congested laugh. “I guess. It’s just...why’s he gotta show off how big and tough he is by picking on someone he knows he’ll beat?”

“‘Cause he’s smart,” Reno answers honestly. “Don’t wanna bite off more than he can chew. Also, he’s a coward.”

“...guess you gotta be smart to be a Turk.”

“Can’t be a coward, though.”

Neysa falls silent. Even with her dark coloring, her skin has the pasty tinge of someone who grew up below the plate. That pastiness fades with time and adequate sunlight, Reno knows, but some side effects are more difficult to shake. “You’re just trying to make me feel better,” she accuses.

“Maybe, but I ain’t lyin’.” Reno gazes at his watch. “Listen, it’s been fun bestowin’ you with all my worldly wisdom, but I gotta be somewhere.”

Despite her eyes being all puffy, Neysa looks a bit less glum. “Thanks,” she says.

Reno’s not sure what she’s thanking him for, but he keeps that to himself.

...

Five minutes later he’s sitting across from Rufus and his big-ass desk. “It’s not like you to schedule lunch meetings,” the boss says. “I trust the matter’s urgent.”

“It is.” Reno sits up a little straighter, wondering if Rufus intentionally selected uncomfortable chairs to fuck with his guests. “I need your help.”

“What kind of help?”

“It’s about Reeve.”

Rufus’ eyes take on a cold glitter that he used to reserve for his old man. “Did he-?”

“No. He’s the perfect gentleman. Could stand to tone it down, if I’m honest.”

“...I see. So then what do you need me for?”

Reno braces himself. This is going to be humiliating as fuck. “We’re goin’ out this Saturday,” he says.

“And?”

“And I gotta plan everything.” Removing his goggles, Reno scrubs a hand through his hair. “You got any suggestions?”

Rufus falls silent for a long time. Just when Reno thinks he should apologize for being unprofessional and excuse himself, he speaks. 

“Take him on a wine tour of Gongaga. Several vineyards in that area boast vintages that are...acceptable.”

Wine tour? That doesn’t sound half bad. Much better than an art gallery. One issue, though. “Uh, ain’t that kinda far for a day trip, boss?”

“It’s only two hours flying.”

“...thought we weren’t supposed to use the choppers for non-company purposes.”

Rufus smiles. Never a pleasant sight. “You’re a Turk, Reno. I’m sure you can manage it without me knowing.”

Rufus gives him the names of some vineyards, as well as contacts who can get him a reservation at the last minute. Then he turns his attention to his datebook, which Reno takes as his cue to get the fuck out.

“You and Reeve certainly are an odd couple,” Rufus says as Reno turns to go. “How did that even happen?”

Reno shrugs. “Wish I could tell you, boss, but I’m as shocked as anyone.”

…

With Rufus' seal of approval, Reno makes the calls and gets things all set for him and Reeve to have a good old drunken time in Gongaga. None of the clerks who take his calls quote him on a price, but Reno figures ignorance is bliss until he gets the bill.

Besides, he can’t put a price on the relief he feels at having arranged something Reeve might actually enjoy. He really does think Reeve will like it, all things considered, and even makes a cute little show of telling him it’s a surprise when he pries for details.

Of course, it’s always when Reno’s got his chocobos in order that everything goes to shit.

The trouble starts when Rude announces at their Thursday staff meeting that he’s collected enough intel about the drug cartels that have been giving Neo Shinra trouble to conduct a bust. After considering the details, Tseng agrees, and Reno is pleased as punch.

Now, he ain’t exactly unhappy with how Rufus runs things. The Turks aren’t assigned so many icky jobs post-Meteor, and it’s sort of...well, Reno’s under no delusion that he’s a hero or even an okay person, but it breaks up the monotony sometimes, doin’ things like emergency evacuations and aid distribution instead of just busting skulls.

There are times, though, when he misses busting skulls a whole lot more than he probably should.

So Reno jumps at the opportunity to itch this particularly unsavory scratch by backing up Rude in his mission to bring down Old Midgar’s last major drug empires. 

The plan is simple enough - stake out the spooky old warehouse where the cartels are going to make the deal, record evidence of the transactions, and bust their asses. And the first two steps of this plan are carried off without a hitch. The hitch comes when Conor, who along with Thad was assigned to back them up as a sniper, accidentally dislodges some mortar from the ledge where he’s hiding. That’s all it takes for one of the drug lord’s bodyguards to spot him.

Reno would be the first guy to point out that Conor has made stupid mistake, the results of which are all on him. Thing is, though, Tseng put him in charge of training up the newbies, and Reno will be fucked before he lets all the hard work he put into teaching Conor how to shoot and fight and remember his goddamn coffee order goes to waste. So he does the only thing he can think of and leaps down from the rafters to kick the bodyguard in the face before he can use the grenade launcher he’s carrying to leave a Conor-shaped stain on the walls. 

It all goes very well until it doesn’t.

Much as he’s confident in his hand-to-hand combat skills, Reno knows that taking on twenty armed guards at once isn’t necessarily a winning strategy. At least he’s got Thad and Conor backing him up. Or, at least, he’s supposed to. There seems, at the moment, to be a concerning lack of bullets. 

The gangsters have a rather eclectic assortment of weapons. For example, one of them is wielding a weird, curved throwing knife. Reno dodges easily when it’s thrown at him and thinks nothing more about it until seconds later when the blade curves back around in mid air and slices off his arm. 

_Reeve ain’t gonna like this,_ he thinks as he shouts in pain and staggers to his knees. No time to feel sorry for himself, though. Throwing a smoke bomb to buy time, Reno uses a strip of cloth from his shirt to make a tourniquet. Then, he grasps his truncheon with his remaining hand and jumps back into the fray.

Half blind from the smoke and possessing only 75% of the limbs he’s used to, Reno keeps fighting - block, dodge, block, riposte, dodge, strike, block. It’s not the pain that gets him. Not yet. What’s really bothering Reno at the moment is a lack of balance. Because who would have guessed that suddenly being divested of an arm would put your whole body off kilter?

Reno is a goddamn professional, though, and so he makes the best of it. He’s lucky that his enemies are just a bunch of thugs, not military-trained fighters. He’s also lucky when, at long last, Elena and Rude show up to help him. 

“ABOUT FUCKIN’ TIME,” he screams, moving to stand in his preferred battle position back-to-back with his comrades.

“Where the hell’s your back-up?” Elena cries as she pistol whips an assailant before turning to shoot another in the head.

“FANTASTIC QUESTION.” Spitting mad, Reno shoves his truncheon through an attacker’s teeth. “THAD?!” he screams into the rafters as he turns on the electricity full blast. “CONOR?!”

Finally, fucking finally, the bullets start raining down. The gangsters fall pretty quickly after that, though it’s only when he's sure they're dead - and also when he spies his own arm lying on the ground - that Reno drops his weapon and decides to topple over.

“Reno!”

Despite his dimming vision, Reno locates Rude hovering over him and grins.

He’ll die before he admits it, but Reno sure is glad to hear that bald fucker’s voice. _Heya, partner_ , he wants to say, but all of a sudden he can’t seem to put the words together. Instead, he lifts his remaining arm and clumsily pats his bicep.

Damn, this really might be it for him. At least Reno got a good fight in before the end. 

_Oh shit,_ he thinks as darkness descends upon him. _What about my cat?_

…

When Reno wakes, he is pleasantly surprised to find that he isn’t dead. 

Instead, he’s lying in a hospital bed, being watched over by an amorphous blob that he realizes once his vision clears is Tseng. 

“...Chief?” 

“Reno,” Tseng replies, tone tinged with an all too familiar exasperation. “Care to explain yourself?”

“...no?”

Tseng narrows his eyes. “You’re on medical leave until further notice. Expect plenty of desk duty after that.”

Reno groans. “Come on...’m fine.”

“Bullshit.”

If Tseng is cursing, he must be real upset. Probably as good a time as any to pass out again.

…

Reno’s in and out for the next few days - consciousness blurring into a cycle of discomfort, drug-induced fog, and an assortment of concerned faces peering down at him. He dreams, too, so vividly sometimes that it’s hard to tell what’s real.

Slowly but surely, though, he comes out of it. The first time he’s lucid enough to have a proper conversation, Rude is the one watching over him. 

“...heya, partner.”

Rude smiles at him in that quiet, not-smile way of his. “Hey, yourself.”

“...time’s it?”

“Almost midnight. You’ve been out for five days.” He gives Reno a chance to mull this over. “They reattached your arm, by the way.”

“Oh yeah?” Head lolling to the right, Reno takes in the cocoon of bandages that starts at his shoulder. “Nice.”

“Mako medicine at its finest. Fair warning, Tseng is pissed.”

Rude’s words are not quite an admonishment, but they still trigger in Reno an emotion suspiciously close to guilt. “Don’t I know it,” Reno mutters, staring at his fucked up arm so that he doesn’t have to look at Rude. “Don't see why, though. We finished the job, and no one died. Everyone on our side's fuckin' fine.”

“Besides you.”

_I am fine_ , Reno wants to insist, not understanding why nobody seems to get that. Then he remembers his date with Reeve and realizes that he’s about as far from fine as one can get.

...

Rude makes Reno wait until the nurse checks up on him and ups his pain meds before he lets him have his PHS. When he gets it, he immediately calls Reeve, only to remember when Reeve answers with an adorably sleepy _“hello?”_ that it’s the middle of the fucking night. 

“Yo,” he says. “Sorry to disturb your beauty sleep.”

_“...Reno? RENO.”_ He hears the manic rustle of sheets being thrown aside and imagines Reeve sitting up - ideally shirtless - and turning on his bedside lamp. _“Where have you been?”_ Reeve demands. _“I’ve asked everyone in your office, but no one would give me a straight answer. Are you hurt? Were you kidnapped? ARE YOU -?”_

“Uh, the first one.”

_“Which hospital? I can -.”_

“Relax,” Reno slurs, head spinning with the knowledge of Reeve’s concern as well as the cocktail of drugs settling into his system. “I’m okay. I just, sorry I missed our date.”

_“...Reno, you disappeared for a week. I’m just glad you’re safe.”_ Reeve lets out a shaky sigh. _“What happened?”_

“Job got a little hairy, is all. I was, er, disarmed.”

_“Come again?”_

From his seat at Reno’s bedside, Rude shakes his head real slow.

“Disarmed. Get it? Those drug lord motherfuckers. Cut. Off. My. Arm”

_“They cut off your arm.”_

“My right arm, yeah. Jokes on them, though. I’m left-handed.”

“Reno,” Rude cautions. “Maybe you should call him back when you feel better.”

Ignoring his partner, who clearly doesn’t understand how much his deft sense of humor has done to lighten the mood, Reno waits for Reeve to chuckle. Reeve does not chuckle. He’s so quiet, in fact, that it’s hard to tell if he’s even breathing. “Hey, it’s cool,” Reno goes on, trying to enunciate clearly because his mouth suddenly feels like it's full of cotton. “They reattached it.”

_“They reattached…you know, you could have led with that.”_

“My bad. I, uh, I’m kinda trippin’ balls if ‘m honest. They pumped me full of...full of somethin’.”

_“It’s okay. I’m just...I’m glad you’re being taken care of. Is someone with you? I can come to the hospital.”_

_Fuck,_ Reno thinks. He can’t let Reeve see him like this. Not when he’s swathed in bandages and half convinced the clock on the wall is ticking backwards. “No worries. Rude’s here.”

_“Can I talk to him?”_

“I guess?” Miffed that Reeve wants to talk to Rude instead of him, Reno shoves the PHS into his partner’s hand and collapses back onto the bed. He tries to pay attention to what Rude’s telling Reeve, but his eyes drift back to the clock and then up and further back until he loses himself in the darkness behind his eyelids. 

…

Reno is discharged from the hospital three days later once the doctors are certain that his reattached arm isn’t about to rot off or worse. He has a list of physical therapy exercises to make sure the muscles mend properly, as well as a cocktail of prescription drugs with names he can’t pronounce. 

Rude takes it upon him to drive him home and help him up the stairs of his eighth floor walk-up. When Reno had chosen an apartment with no working elevator, he seriously should have considered how often he gets injured. 

“Thanks,” he says once Rude has taken his keys and unlocked the front door for him. “I owe you one.” Elena, too, for taking care of the cat.

Speaking of that obnoxious fleabag, here she is, meowing like he’s been gone a year and rubbing up against his legs so that he almost trips on her walking through the door.

“Seems like someone missed you,” Rude says, steadying Reno as he kicks off his shoes. 

“Me waitin’ on her hand n’ foot is what she missed.” Shoes successfully removed, Reno stomps across the room and collapses on the sofa. His apartment consists of a bedroom, bathroom, and all-purpose main room where he’s squeezed in a living room set and TV, along with the kitchenette. His place is honestly a bit run down, which Reno can sympathize with at the moment because he feels about ready to drop. 

“Can I get you anything?” Rude asks, setting a paper bag that contains Reno’s personal effects and meds on the kitchen counter. 

Settling more firmly into the lumpy cushions, Reno shakes his head. “I’m good. Thanks for the ride.”

Rude nods but doesn’t leave. Instead, he leans back against the counter and watches Reno from behind his sunglasses. “Even for you, what you did was pretty reckless.”

“Man, can’t you talk about nothin’ else?”

“Conor feels terrible.”

“Conor _should_ feel terrible.” The kid’s a killer shot, but that doesn't mean shit if he gets killed first.

Rude doesn’t say anything to this. Instead, he scoops up the cat, who is batting at the hem of his trousers and gives her a couple pats. “You name her yet?” 

“What for?”

Rude doesn’t say anything to that, either. Most of the time, Reno can pick up on what his quiet spells mean without much trouble, but at the moment he’s just too tired.

“You should get some sleep,” Rude says, reading his mind like usual. 

“How am I supposed to do that with you hoverin’ over me?” Reno doesn’t know why he says that. The truth is he doesn’t want Rude to leave. The only thing worse than being injured is being injured alone. 

Thank Gaia that Rude ignores him - also like usual - and continues fussing with the cat. 

Turning his attention away from them, Reno picks up his PHS and re-reads five days’ worth of increasingly worried messages from Reeve. He feels bad that he hasn’t contacted him since that ill-advised phone call. Not that he could have replied with anything constructive when he was drugged to the gums, but still. 

“Should probably let him know you’re home,” Rude says, exhibiting his honest-to-gods telepathy once again.

Rude makes a fair point, so Reno sends Reeve a short text, only to receive a phone call in reply seconds later. Without the courage of delirium to guide him, Reno lets it go to voicemail. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, setting his PHS face-down on the coffee table and turning his back to it. He gives their relationship two weeks. Three, tops. 

…

When Reno wakes up, his apartment is dark, and his arm throbs something awful. Rude is nowhere in sight, but there’s a note on the coffee table - next to a glass of water and his evening dose of medication - telling him that he had to go help Tseng "clean something up." Reno eyes the meds with disdain. He doesn’t relish the thought of his mind being clouded any more than it’s been already, so he swallows down the antibiotics, ignores the painkillers, and proceeds to wallow in self-pity. 

“I need a shower,” he mutters, giving his armpit a careful sniff. Keeping his bandages and sling dry is gonna be a bitch, though, and Reno doesn’t feel up to the challenge. Despite how bad it hurts, he can’t help moving his right arm periodically - flexing his fingers and rotating his wrist as best he can to remind himself it’s there. He figures he should eat or read some of the PT materials the doctor gave him, but all Reno can seem to do is fidget.

Elena calls it an “itch,” when he gets like this. It usually happens after stressful missions or when they’re on a long job and he’s popped a bunch of hypers to stay awake. In the grips of it, Reno can’t sit still, and his mind just runs and runs, no matter that his body is tired to the point of dropping or that the threat has long since vanished. 

Rude gets like that sometimes, too, but he hides it better. Doesn’t snap at his teammates or steel up for a fight at a glimpse of his own shadow. Doesn’t shake, either. Fuck. How’s it that Reno can get through a fight cool as anything, but afterwards his hands will twitch for hours? It doesn’t...there’s a word for it that someone told him once, but he doesn’t like to think on it.

Regardless of what he does or doesn't like, now that the effect of the drugs is clearing, Reno starts to itch. He considers taking a shower after all. That helps sometimes, but what Reno really wants when he gets like this is a good, long fuck. 

And damn, if it ain’t been a minute. The last time Reno got his dick wet must have been when Tseng got promoted a few months back. They’d had a big celebration at Rhodea’s new place - rented out the whole VIP lounge and even invited some of the Honey Bee dancers to join them after their show. One of those dancers had been a cute guy with dimples and big soft tits, and Reno...well, he’d fallen back into some familiar habits.

Rolling onto his back, Reno ignores his body’s twinge of protest and trails his hand - his stupid, jittery hand - down his torso. Just because he’s got no one to fuck doesn’t mean he can’t get off, right? Just imagine it’s Reeve touching him all over - his big hands, firm and...and _gentle_ , or some shit, pressing Reno into the mattress, sliding over his thighs and stomach and everywhere else he likes. 

“...yeah.” Reno groans as heat pools in his belly. He’s worn out enough that it takes longer than usual to get it up, but when he imagines Reeve’s mouth on him - the wet heat of it, the stubble scraping at his throat - his boner manages just fine. Palming himself through his sweatpants, he wonders how Reeve’s thick fingers would feel on him... _in_ him, even. “...right there.” His eyes drift shut. 

“Mrrraoow?”

Hand freezing, Reno looks up to find the cat staring at him from the back of the couch. “The hell you lookin’ at,” he mutters, defiantly slipping his hand below his waistband. Who cares if he has an audience? The cat licks her own asshole on the regular, so it’s not as if…goddamn it.

“Leave me alone.”

He might be imagining it, but her eyes seem to get even wider and cuter as she leaps down onto his stomach. “Mraow.”

“Absolutely not. No. Quit it!”

It’s too late. She’s all up in his business, kneading his shirt with her claws and purring like a motor as her head buts against his chin. 

With a frustrated sigh, Reno scoops her up and heaves himself unsteadily to his feet. Carrying the cat into the kitchen, he sets her on the floor and fixes up some of that canned food she’s always after - which takes a certain amount of creativity to pull off one-handed. 

“Might’a started out skinny, but you’re gettin’ fat as shit,” he says as he sets the tin on the linoleum and watches with satisfaction as she begins to wolf it down. Then, while she’s distracted, he sneaks into his bedroom and shuts the door so he can rub one out in peace.

Settling on his unmade bed, Reno shoves his hand down his pants and gets back to it. He picks up the pace this time, keen to finish before the cat comes back and starts scratching the shit out of the door until he lets her in. 

His mind slides through a muddle of fantasies - Reeve smiling at him, touching him, letting him blow him in the back of his fancy car. Sometimes, too, Reno’s imagination veers off the rails a bit. He does his best not to let it, tries sticking to good thoughts and avoid the unsafe places he goes without meaning to when he’s alone. It’s hard, though. Especially when he’s been having such a rough time recently.

To combat this, Reno clears his mind and refocuses instead on raw sensation. Angling his wrist, he gives his dick a mean twist, relishing how the burn strikes a counterpoint to the dull ache that’s settled low in his gut. He strokes himself harder than he thinks Reeve would do it but not harder than he likes. And Reno likes it pretty hard...doesn’t hesitate to pull at himself even rougher as precum starts dribbling down his fingers. He wishes he had his other hand in commission so that he could finger himself or grab his balls, but it still feels pretty great - all the stress and ugliness he's used to drowned out by the spark of heat and nerves firing and his own blood pulsing hot and heavy in his ears. 

He’s close suddenly...a bit more….and then...

And then, the goddamn doorbell.

With a strangled groan, Reno mashes the video feed button on the screen near his bed. Security footage of the main door to his apartment building flickers on, and...well.

“Fuck me,” Reno mutters under his breath before hitting the talk button to address his late night caller. 

“Heya there, Tuesti. What’s good?”

…

Reno figures that it will take three minutes for Reeve to walk up the eight flights to his apartment. Three and half minutes if he stops to rest part way.

So that’s how much time Reno has to will away his erection, put on clean pants, use deodorant, brush his teeth, and clumsily wash his left hand. Be nice if he had time to fix his hair, but Reno’s not about to tempt fate thinking that. 

After three minutes and twenty-seven seconds, there’s a knock on the door. When he opens it, Reno finds a breathless, familiarly disheveled Reeve staring back at him. 

“Shit,” he wheezes as he pushes past Reno and bends over to catch his breath. “What kind of masochist lives at the top of a building with no elevator?”

“The kind of masochist who gets a steal on rent.” Closing the door, Reno gives Reeve’s shoulder a sympathetic pat. “How’d you know my room number?”

“Asked Tseng.” 

“Wow, that takes guts.”

“I’m very persuasive." Straightening, Reeve makes a soft, coaxing noise at the cat when he catches her spying on him warily from the top of the fridge. “Also, I think he’s mad at you.”

“So that’s my punishment? He tells my boyfriend where I live.”

“Boyfriend, huh?”

Fuuuuuck. Being blue-balled must be having a detrimental effect on him cognitively or something. Lucky for Reno, Reeve just gives him a sheepish smile before turning his attention to his arm. 

“Does it hurt?”

“Guess so. Gonna scar up pretty good.”

Reeve doesn’t say anything to that, and Reno wishes that he would start in on office gossip or some shit because the silence is damn near unbearable.

“Reno, your hand is shaking.”

On second thought, silence is golden. “It’s nothing,” Reno says, jamming his left hand in his pocket and willing it to just chill out. “I, uh, got an itch, you know?”

“An itch? Do you need, like, an antihistamine?”

“Nah, man. I don’t have allergies.”

“Oh. What did you mean then?”

“Dunno. Hey, you want somethin’ to drink?” Reeve shakes his head, but Reno ignores him and slinks over to the kitchenette. “Think Laney drank all my beer, but I got coffee and, uh, tap water.”

“Reno, you should be resting.”

“Coffee it is.” Putting on the kettle, he locates two clean cups and measures out scoops of soluble instant coffee bits. “You take sugar?”

“...sure.” Trailing after him, Reeve plops down on one of the bar stools at the counter and watches Reno shuffle about the kitchen. “Why wouldn’t anyone tell me you were in the hospital?”

“Standard protocol when one of us gets hurt,” he replies, turning off the stove just as the kettle starts to whistle. “It’s a security thing.”

“What about family?”

Reno doesn’t really know how to answer that, so he shrugs and hands Reeve his coffee. “It’s hot,” he warns, before taking his own cup and moving back to the living room area to curl up on the couch. 

Reeve swivels around on his stool and watches as Reno makes himself comfortable. As usual, he looks fucking exhausted. Fucking sexy, too, in a T-shirt that’s tight across the shoulders and boasts a v-neck just deep enough for a little chest hair to peek through. His hair’s not slicked back like normal, either. It’s loose and framing his face in a way that Reno likes. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here,” he says. “Told you I was fine.”

“Yeah, well you weren’t answering my messages, so I decided to see for myself.” 

The faint current of disapproval in his words has Reno kind of tongue-tied, so he stays quiet and watches the other take a sip of what is probably pretty abysmal coffee. “Hey,” Reeve finally says, glancing at the top of the fridge, “where’d the cat go?”

“Eh? She’s around. Kinda shy with strangers.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Scratched the piss outta me first time I touched her.” Reno shakes down the sleeve of his good hand so that Reeve can see the mostly faded claw marks on his forearm. “Warmed up once she realized I was gonna feed her scrawny ass.”

Reeve smiles. He’s fucking handsome all the time, but goddamn it, when he smiles it’s something else. “Where’d you get her?”

“Found her on a job. Was in a trash can screeching her head off while I was tryin’ to be covert.”

When he hears this, Reeve’s smile just gets bigger. Reno’s glad he doesn’t seem upset with him anymore, but that smile makes him squirm inside something awful. “How’s the coffee?” he asks.

“Honestly? Tastes awful.”

Reno laughs and then curses as some of his own drink splashes on his shirt. “Thought you weren’t picky.”

Reeve takes another sip. “I’m not.”

They enjoy each other’s quiet for a while - Reno on the couch and Reeve perched precariously on the wobbly bar stool. Reno places his mostly untouched cup on the coffee table and stares up at the cracked ceiling. He should really move somewhere better. Comfortable as this place is, it’s kind of a shit hole, and he doesn’t want Reeve to think he’s destitute.

“Reno,” Reeve says, “are you really okay?”

“Sure am.” Reno wiggles his bandaged arm by way of demonstration. “What were you doin’ up so late, anyway? Workin’?”

“I was talking to my sister.”

“‘Bout what?”

“You mostly.” 

Reno tries to cover his surprise with a cough, but judging by the concerned look the other gives him, he’s just making things worse. “You’re too honest, yo. Gonna give me a heart attack.”

Reeve’s eyes go wide and innocent. “Golly, I sure hope not.” 

Despite the fact that he’s blushing like a school boy, Reno snorts. “Damn, how come no one told me you have a sense of humor? Woulda put the moves on you way sooner.”

Abandoning his mug at the counter, Reeve makes his way over to the couch and picks up Reno’s legs so that he can sit. “Really, though,” he says, shifting so that Reno’s bony ankles are resting on his thighs, “you should be in bed.”

“I, uh...uhhh…” Reno’s words melt into unintelligible groans as the other digs his thumbs firmly into the arch of his left foot. He figures he should be embarrassed that Reeve is touching his feet when he hasn’t bathed properly since before he got hurt, but nothing about Reno’s brain works right when Reeve is touching him. “Can't sleep," he finally manages to reply. "I don’t always wind down so easy.”

Reeve continues to work out the kinks in his foot. “Is it because you don’t like hospitals?”

“That, yeah. Can’t say I’m fond of having my arm cut off, either.”

Much to Reno’s displeasure, Reeve pauses his massage. “That’s horrible,” he says, voice tense. 

Reno just hums and pokes him in the stomach with his big toe. “What’d you say about me to your sister?”

“...that you’re smart and hardworking,” Reeve says, picking up where he left off with the massage. “Funny, too.”

“Yeah?”

“I think she’d like you.”

Reno doubts that. “You tell her how hot I am?”

“Sure did. Said I especially like your hair.”

“I dye it, you know.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t like it.”

Reno tries to formulate a clever reply, but all he can manage is to moan in appreciation as Reeve shifts attention to his other foot. 

“Is there a reason you haven’t taken those?” Reeve asks, nodding at the pain pills still sitting on the table. 

God, why’s Reeve gotta ask him such hard questions? “I don’t always react to meds so good,” he admits. “An’ I don’t like when I can’t think straight.”

“You mean like when you called me from the hospital?”

Reno throws his good arm across his face. “You really gotta bring that up?”

“I really do.” Reeve turns to him with a thoughtful look. “It’s not right for you to be in pain. If you want to take them, I can stay here and look out for you.”

_It’s not right for you to be in pain._ Reno’s not sure anyone’s ever told him that. He’s also not sure that he wants to be a drugged up idiot again in front of Reeve.

Damn, though. His arm really fucking hurts. 

“You asked for it,” he says, grabbing the pills and cramming them dry into his mouth. “Fair warning, I’m liable to say some weird-ass shit.”

Before he’s too out of it to function, Reno figures it might be a good idea to finally get cleaned up, so he excuses himself to the bathroom.

As he waits for the shower to heat, Reno undresses and conducts the laborious task of wrapping his bad arm in the saran wrap he keeps beneath the sink. He spares a quick glance in the mirror, only to avert his eyes. 

Ain’t like anyone would look good after the week he’s had, but it’d sure be nice if Reeve weren’t here to see it.

Once he’s sat himself down on the little plastic stool he keeps in the tub, Reno grabs the detachable showerhead and a bar of soap and scrubs himself all over. He has to stop and rest a few times, but it goes pretty well until he gets to his hair. 

By now, the meds are kicking in, which is great because his right arm hurts a whole lot less but is also not so good because instead of washing his greasy, tangled hair, all Reno can think about is curling up on the floor of the tub and taking a nap. _Bathtubs are not for napping,_ a voice in his head that sounds like Rude insists, but Reno’s always been a rebel, so.

Just as he’s about to curl up next to the drain, Reno hears a knock on the door. 

Under no circumstances - including life-or-death situations and threats of torture - does he want Reeve to see him huddled naked and high in a bathtub. Then again, Reno’s never been one for making good decisions, so he uses a washcloth to hide his junk and clears his throat. “Come in.”

The door creaks open.

“It’s been a while, Reno. You okay in th - ?” Reeve’s voice dries up when he catches sight of him.

“Real sexy, right?” Reno says, posing jokingly to show off the latticework of bruises on his flank. “Don’t worry, yo. Looks worse than it is.”

Reeve’s eyes slide all over him, and much as he’d like to think otherwise, Reno’s pretty sure it ain’t because he finds him irresistibly sexy. Reeve’s got this look on his face...and it’s like, well, it’s almost like he’s angry.

“Uh, you just gonna look at me, or…”

“Sorry,” Reeve says, not sounding very apologetic. “Let me help with your hair.”

Reno spares a moment to marvel at how he knows what he needs without him having to say it. Then he nods and scoots the stool a bit so that Reeve can squeeze in behind him. 

Rolling up his sleeves, Reeve perches on the edge of the tub and gets to work. He’s predictably detail-oriented - using a comb to pick out the tangles before wetting the strands and lathering them up with Reno’s cheap shampoo. He rinses the suds away without getting any soap in his eyes and even spares a few minutes for conditioner. 

Now, Reno cuts his own hair, so he’s never been to a salon, but he imagines the experience must be something like this. It’s kinda embarrassing...and is probably gonna be a whole lot more embarrassing once the drugs wear off...but it’s also pretty nice.

“Do you have a hairdryer?” 

“Hmm?” He must have nodded off a bit because it takes him a few seconds to put Reeve’s words together. “Second drawer under the sink.”

After he’s made sure his hair is thoroughly dry, Reeve coaxes him into wrapping a towel around his waist and drags him into his bedroom. Lucky for both of them, Reeve’s pretty tough for a pencil pusher. At least, he only stumbles a little bit helping Reno down the hall.

“Put these on,” he says, pressing a clean t-shirt and boxers into his hand. Reno manages the underwear okay, but when it comes to the shirt he’s not sure what to do about his arm.

“Stop,” Reeve practically snaps when he sees him fumbling. “Let me.”

“...mmm’kay, sheesh.” Reno holds out his arm so Reeve can remove the saran wrap. “...you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad, Reno. I’m concerned.”

“...seem mad though.”

Reeve sighs. “I’m mad at the situation, not at you.” 

While Reno busts a few brain cells thinking that one over, Reeve helps him into the shirt and reattaches his sling so that his injured arm is securely cradled. 

“Don’t gotta...worry so much.” Reno says at last, unable to resist slumping forward so he can press his forehead into the other’s chest. “...’m fine.” 

“Please don’t lie to me.”

“...m’kay, ‘m not fine,” Reno admits. “Can we go to bed now?”

Hands come up to pet his hair. Fuck, it feels so good. “Yeah,” Reeve says, sounding tired enough for the both of them.

Reno closes his eyes and hums. His itch is gone, and it feels instead like his bones have turned to syrup. “Good,” he says, lying back on the bed and pulling the other with him. “...let’s hit the hay.”

His eyes are closed, but Reno can hear Reeve’s soft chuckle as he allows himself to be dragged down onto the sheets. A warm, solid arm wraps around his waist and pulls him close. 

Pressing his face further into his chest, Reno sighs as Reeve rubs slow circles into his back. His touch is as gentle as he imagined, and if he weren’t so relaxed, Reno’s not sure he could handle it. 

“Sleep well, Reno.”

“...mmmhh…”

_It’s not right for you to be in pain._

As Reno begins to nod off, Reeve’s words from before come back to him. He sounded so certain when he said them...but he’d also told Reno not to lie. And it would be a lie by omission, wouldn’t it? If he said nothing to correct him?

Thing is, though, Reno’s mighty comfortable right now. And mighty sleepy, too. Whatever truths he’s got festering inside him, he figures they can wait.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not as happy about the pacing of this fic as the first one, but I hope you liked it!


End file.
